The last of them

 Prison was nothing like juvenile detention.

There were no guards pretending to care, no counselors offering fake promises of rehabilitation. This was the real thing, a place where weakness was preyed on, where survival meant being harder than the walls that caged you.

Dev kept his head down as he was led through the corridors, past cells filled with men who had spent years, decades inside. Some of them watched him with curiosity, others with amusement, and a few with something darker.

"Fresh meat," someone muttered as he passed.

"How long you in for, kid?" another called out.

"Oh, his really fresh" another said.

Dev didn't answer. He just kept walking, his hands clenched into fists, his breathing steady.

The guard escorting him smirked. "Better get used to it, Devan. You're home now."

"Home".

The word made his stomach turn.

The guards shoved him into his cell. The door slammed shut behind him, the sound final, like the closing of a coffin. He barely had time to take in the cramped space before a voice spoke from the top bunk.

"First time?"

Dev turned and saw his cellmate, a lean man in his forties with sharp eyes and an easy smirk. His arms were covered in faded tattoos, prison ink marking the years he had spent behind bars.

"Yes," Dev muttered.

The man nodded. "Thought so. You got that look."

"What look?"

"The look of someone who hasn't figured out how screwed he really is." The man said as he let out a sarcastic laugh.

 "Name's Ray. What'd you do?"

Dev hesitated. "Didn't do it."

Ray chuckled, leaning back against the wall. "That's what they all say, kid."

Dev didn't argue. He didn't reply.

He dropped onto the lower bunk, his body tense.

The man watched him for a moment before leaning back. "Name's Ray."

"Devan."

"Well, Devan," Ray said, stretching his arms, "if you wanna survive in here, you'd better learn quick."

"Learn what?"

Ray grinned. "That this place will eat you alive if you let it."

Dev didn't say anything. He just stared at the cold concrete wall, thinking about the last thing he saw before the prison van doors closed, Jack standing outside the courthouse, giving his rehearsed little speech, playing the grieving friend while his father stood beside him.

Dev clenched his fists.

He would get out of here.

And when he did, Jack and his friends would pay.

The first week was a test.

Some inmates ignored him, while others watched him, waiting for a sign of weakness. Dev stayed quiet, didn't make eye contact, didn't react to the comments thrown his way.

But it didn't matter.

In prison, trouble found you whether you wanted it or not.

It started in the yard.

Dev was sitting alone at a rusted table, staring at the fence topped with barbed wire, when a shadow fell over him.

"Hey, kid," a deep voice rumbled.

Dev looked up. A group of inmates stood in front of him. Their leader, a tall, muscular man covered in scars, smirked down at him.

"Heard you're new. You should show some respect."

Dev didn't answer.

The man's smirk widened. "Not much of a talker, huh?"

He grabbed Dev's tray of food and dumped it onto the ground.

"You are now," the man said. "Clean it up."

Dev's heart pounded. He could feel the weight of the yard's attention on him. This was a test. If he backed down now, he'd be a target forever.

So he didn't.

He stood up. Slowly. Calmly.

"You're gonna regret that," Dev said, his voice low.

The man laughed. "Oh yeah? What are you gonna do, fresh meat?"

Dev didn't answer. He just swung.

His fist connected with the man's jaw, sending him stumbling back.

For a second, there was silence.

The man gave a slight chuckle then, chaos erupted.

The man lunged, slamming Dev against the table. Fists rained down, pain exploding across his face, his ribs. But he fought back, throwing wild punches, refusing to curl up and take it.

The yard was in an uproar. Inmates shouted bets, some egging Dev on, others waiting to see if he would fold.

He didn't.

Even as the man pinned him down, even as blood filled his mouth, he didn't stop fighting.

Guards stormed in, breaking up the fight. Dev was yanked away, his arms twisted behind his back.

"That's enough!" one of the guards barked.

The other inmates backed off, but the scarred man smirked at Dev, wiping blood from his lip. "You got guts, kid," he said. "We'll see how long that lasts."

The guards dragged Dev away.

Straight to solitary. The Darkest Place.

Solitary confinement was hell.

No light, no sound, just the walls closing in, pressing against him like a living thing.

At first, Dev kept track of time by counting seconds. Then minutes. Then hours.

Eventually, he lost count.

He lay on the thin mattress, staring at the ceiling, his mind drifting.

Cole's face flashed in his mind.

The way he smiled when he talked about their future, the way his eyes lit up when Dev introduced him to comics and gaming, the way he looked that day in the park, scared, desperate, broken.

And then the blood.

The way his head hit the iron. The way his body crumpled.

Dev closed his eyes, trying to push the memory away.

But it never left.

Cole was dead.

And Dev was here.

Buried alive.

The only thing that kept him going was one thought.

This isn't the end.

Not yet.

A noise broke through the silence, the sound of the slot in the door sliding open.

A guard's voice echoed through the cell. "Time's up, newbie. Back to the yard."

Dev sat up slowly. His body ached, his head throbbed, but he pushed himself to his feet.

The door creaked open.

As he stepped out, he caught sight of Ray waiting for him in the hallway, arms crossed.

"Looks like you made an impression," Ray said.

Dev didn't respond.

Ray smirked. "Good. You're gonna need that fight in you. Because in here? It's just getting started."